


my baby does me good

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, whoops this turned into porn again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: Freddie, Brian has long since discovered, has two main moods when he’s been drinking. He’s either sharp and cutting, a force of inebriated nature that takes no prisoners. Or he’s soft and sweet, unashamedly cuddly. It doesn’t take a genius, looking at Freddie’s dopey beam, to figure out which Freddie Brian is dealing with tonight.





	1. Chapter 1

It always happens like this. Freddie’s not a lightweight, not when it comes to alcohol at least, but his judgement is always ever-so-slightly off; add to that the fact that he’s always got someone topping his glass up or nudging a new one into his hand, and it’s a few short steps to a swaying, slurring Freddie.

Brian’s trying to watch him without looking – well, like he’s watching him. He’s not sure why he’s bothering, because nobody is paying him any attention, but some part of him still shies away from the idea that anyone might see him looking at Freddie and just _know_.

(He goes too far the other way, sometimes; fixes a frown onto his face and purses his lips when his eyes wander in Freddie’s direction, and now rumours abound that he doesn’t even _like_ Freddie. Which is, admittedly, hilarious, if a little frustrating. Just last month Freddie had gleefully shoved a newspaper article under Brian’s nose headlined ‘ _Trouble with Her Majesty? Source claims guitarist May ‘can’t stand’ singer Mercury_ ’. They’d laughed about it, but Brian did wonder who exactly had sold the story; there was some truth in the recollection of witnessing an argument in a backstage corridor.

The argument had actually turned into sex in the ensuite to the main dressing room, because Freddie is extraordinarily good at distracting Brian from petty grievances with wandering hands, but the source hadn’t been privy to _that_ bit of information. Brian doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed.)

He casts an eye around the room – it’s still packed but the party is starting to dwindle, the steady flow of drink slowing and people starting to drift off towards the doors. It’s only crew, family and friends – allegedly – but Brian still feels a bit protective when his eyes return inevitably to Freddie. It's the friends of friends that can become an issue at parties like these. 

Freddie is leaning on the bar, his grip loose on a glass of champagne, and there’s an edge of hysterical mania in the way he throws his head back and laughs too hard at something one of his companions has said. As Brian watches, one of them slips an arm around Freddie’s waist and whispers something in his ear.

Brian looks away briefly and pretends his heart isn’t in his throat when he glances back to check Freddie’s reaction.

Freddie’s smiling, but he shakes his head and leans away. The man shrugs in apparent acceptance, but Brian notices that he doesn’t remove his arm from Freddie’s waist.

Brian stands up, leaving his glass on the side. He murmurs his apologies to the group he was sitting with and makes his way over to the bar.

Freddie notices him before the others do and grins, forgetting to hide his teeth because he always does when he’s drunk, and holds out both arms with a flourish as though royalty is approaching.

“Brian,” he says happily, and then, to the rest of the group: “This is Brian!”

“Yeah, we know,” says still-got-his-arm-around-Freddie’s-waist. He barely bothers to glance in Brian’s direction before he’s whispering in Freddie’s ear again, but Freddie twists away from him impatiently this time.

“No, I said, I don’t want to,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. Brian tries not to look too pleased about it. “ _Brian_ – ” and Brian loves it when Freddie says his name like that, all proud and fond “ – is our guitarist and he is just the _best_ , you played fantastically tonight darling, you really did.”

“Thanks, Fred,” Brian says, his mouth twitching. “Listen, I was thinking of calling it a night, do you think you’re – ”

“Oh, he’s not ready to go,” interrupts one of Freddie’s other companions, disdainfully. “Are you, Freddie?” He picks up a bottle of champagne from the bar and fills Freddie’s glass.

Freddie looks at it like he isn’t sure where it came from, then automatically takes a sip.

“Freddie?” asks Brian.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Freddie says. He holds out his glass to Brian – or rather, up to Brian, because he’s kicked off his shoes at some point and the difference in their heights is more apparent than ever, especially with the way Freddie is leaning on the bar. Brian shakes his head; Freddie brings it back down to his own level and takes another sip. “Isn’t the party just getting started, dear?”

There’s a flurry of laughter from the crowd around him, even though he hasn’t said anything funny. Freddie just smiles indulgently.

“We were thinking of taking it elsewhere,” one of them says, “there’s some great clubs not far from here – ”

“Mmm, they’re _so_ great,” says arm-around-the-waist, only now his hand is sliding lower. “We could go have some proper fun.”

Brian _feels_ his own expression shutter off and he chants in his head that he’s not Freddie’s keeper, he can’t tell him what to do and what not to do, they’re not exclusive and they never have been, Freddie’s not _his_ –

And then he notices the look Freddie shoots him, just a tiny thing, tired underneath the alcohol and ever so slightly pleading, and it’s all Brian needs.

He steps forward and slides his own arm around Freddie’s waist, tugging him away from the group until he’s standing next to Brian, out of their reach. He knows he’s not imagining the way Freddie nestles into him.

His voice is cold when he says, “He told you he doesn’t want to.”

The man scowls at Brian, pulling himself up to his full height and twisting his face into a sneer, but before he can retort back, Freddie murmurs, “Let’s get back, Bri.”

The sneer stays, but the man shuts his mouth now that Freddie’s rejected him again. Brian doesn’t bother hanging around to see what else they might have to say. He steers Freddie away from them and across the room, heading for the exit.

It’s a rooftop bar and they’re staying in the rooms below, so fortunately there isn’t far to go. Still, Brian eyes the grand sweeping staircase with some trepidation; Freddie is leaning heavily enough on him for him to harbour significant doubts about his ability to walk back to his room without incident, and he’s a bit knackered from the concert himself. He doesn’t much fancy having to carry Fred.

The lift catches his eye so Brian guides Freddie over there with some relief and presses the button to call it. He lets go of Freddie; Freddie immediately leans on the wall, back to the gilded wallpaper, and then sinks down to sit cross-legged on the plush velvet carpet. He smiles up at Brian sunnily.

Freddie, Brian has long since discovered, has two main moods when he’s been drinking. He’s either sharp and cutting, a force of inebriated nature that takes no prisoners. Or he’s soft and sweet, unashamedly cuddly. It doesn’t take a genius, looking at Freddie’s dopey beam, to figure out which Freddie Brian is dealing with tonight.

He’s glad. He’s dealt with enough of Type One Freddie recently; he deserves some Type Two for his troubles.

“Hi Brian,” Freddie says, dragging the vowels out. “Bri. Brimi.”

“You’ve not called me that in a while.”

“I call you lots of things.”

Brian has to smile at that. “Yeah, you do. You’re very creative when it comes to calling people names, aren’t you?”

Freddie gasps in mock-insult. “Not as creative as you, Bri Brimi Brian,” he says. He’s slurring a bit; Brian bites the inside of his cheek, painfully aware that his smile is getting more and more lovelorn by the second.

“Oh? What do I call you?” Before Freddie can answer, the lift arrives with a tuneful ting. “Come on, up you get.” He holds out his hands and Freddie grabs them. Brian half-drags him to his feet and into the lift and Freddie stumbles into him, laughing giddily. “Bloody hell, Fred, how much of that champagne did you drink?”

“Gallons and gallons,” Freddie tells him very seriously as Brian presses the button for their floor. He doesn’t sit down again, which is a relief, clinging to Brian for support instead. “And you call me… lots of things.”

“I call you Freddie,” Brian says, deadpan.

Freddie nods. “That’s my name,” he says, as though imparting a great secret.

“Is it really?”

“You call me… Fred.”

“A diminutive of your name.”

Freddie flaps a hand at him. “Oh hush. Big words, Brian.”

“Is that another nickname for me?” Brian asks, grinning.

Freddie’s expression turns sly. “Oh yes,” he says, suddenly sounding far too innocent. “Big Brian.” With all the subtlety of a slap in the face, his gaze slides to Brian’s crotch.

And that’s the thing. Both types of drunk Freddie, whether sharp as a knife or cuddly as a teddy bear, tend to have a very strong interest in sex.

“I thought we were discussing my names for you?” Brian asks to distract him, partly because they’re in a lift and partly because he’s not nearly as drunk as Freddie is and it doesn’t feel right, despite the automatic interest his cock is taking in proceedings. It has a habit of doing that, where Freddie is involved.

“We are, we are,” Freddie says. He steps closer still, until he’s plastered against Brian’s body, and tips his head back for a kiss. Brian gives him a quick, chaste one to keep him happy, then grabs him around the waist again as the lift doors slide again.

“Come on, you,” he says, lugging Freddie out. The corridor is deserted, thankfully. It’s only the band on this floor anyway and Brian is glad of it. He doesn’t like the idea of any of the party hangers-on staying in a room anywhere near Freddie’s. “I’m still waiting to hear what else I apparently call you.”

Freddie just hums at him and Brian assumes he’s lost his interest. It isn’t until he stops outside Freddie’s door that Freddie twists in his arms so they’re facing each other again and speaks. He can feel the heat of Freddie’s body and smell the shampoo from his post-concert shower. Freddie’s looking him at him with heavy lids, but his gaze is intent.

“You call me… baby,” he says, and Brian swallows.

“Freddie,” he murmurs, as Freddie stretches up on his tiptoes for another kiss. He turns his face away half-heartedly so Freddie catches the corner of his mouth instead, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You’re drunk, we can’t…”

“You call me baby,” Freddie says again, insistently. His hands find Brian’s jaw and turn his head to stop him looking away.

“Baby,” says Brian, and Freddie gives a pleased little sigh, letting his head fall until it’s resting on Brian’s chest.

“Have you got your keycard?” he asks.

“Back pocket,” Freddie says, muffled against his chest.

Brian’s hands drop to Freddie’s ass and one slides into his back pocket. He feels Freddie push back against his hand but manfully ignores it. He’s distracted, anyhow, by the fact that Freddie’s pockets are definitely empty.

“Fred, there’s nothing there,” he says, bringing his arms back up to circle Freddie’s waist. An unpleasant thought strikes him. “Did you give it to one of those men?”

Freddie gives a little shiver in his arms and Brian looks down, concerned. After a beat, he realises that Freddie is trying not to laugh.

Brian scowls at him. “You just wanted me to grope your arse, didn’t you?”

Freddie gives a slightly undignified snort of laughter and says, “But Brimi, you’re so good at it…”

“You’re impossible,” Brian tells him. He leans back, putting his hands on Freddie’s shoulders and pushing him back too so that he can look at him. “Where did you leave it?”

“Don’t know,” Freddie says. He makes a concentrated effort to meet Brian’s gaze, blinking hard in an attempt to cling to what little sobriety he has left. “Really, I don’t.”

“Alright,” Brian says. “My room, then.” He points a finger at Freddie. “For sleep, you understand?”

Freddie lets go of Brian to raise both hands in the air in what he apparently thinks is a gesture of extreme innocence. It’s ruined somewhat by the bleary-eyed grin he’s sporting. “I will sleep,” he says with some attempt at dignity, which is promptly lost the moment he takes a step towards Brian’s room and walks into the wall instead.

Brian shakes his head and catches his shoulders from behind, propelling him in the right direction. “Impossible,” he repeats. He gets his own keycard out further up the corridor and lets them both in, but before he gives Freddie a nudge through the door he can’t help but dip his head to press a quick kiss to the nape of Freddie’s neck. “You're impossible, baby.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two!
> 
> I wrote this in about an hour and half in an attempt to a) ignore all responsibilities and b) distract myself from my own SHAME because I got too drunk at the weekend and Made A Fool Of Myself so if it's terrible I apologise but you know why hahhaaha haha ha

Freddie wakes up slowly the next morning. His body feels heavy and warm and there’s a pleasant smell in the air, an aftershave that’s not his own.

He stretches out, luxuriating in the soft pillows, before he opens his eyes.

Ah. Brian’s room. There’s a stack of Brian’s casual clothes neatly folded on the side and one of his show outfits hanging meticulously behind the door, and Brian himself is sitting up in bed next to him. He’s got a newspaper open on his lap and a cup of tea in his hand but he’s noticed Freddie waking up.

“Good morning,” he says, “how’s your head?”

Freddie automatically touches his forehead as though checking for something, then gives his head a little shake to test it. No headache, no lingering nausea. “Fine,” he says after a beat, “what did I - ?”

“Champagne,” Brian says. “You weren’t the worst I’ve ever seen you, but you did walk into a couple of walls, so…”

Freddie grimaces. When he looks back at Brian, Brian is grinning.

“I made you drink plenty of water when we got in, anyway,” he continues, indicating the bedside table beside Freddie. Freddie looks; there’s a jug of water and a half-full glass. “I think you’d drunk about a whole jug by the time you begged me to let you just go to sleep.”

“So that’s why I feel like my bladder is about to burst,” Freddie says.

Brian laughs. “At least you don’t have a headache.”

Freddie nods. “Thank you,” he says. He means it; he’s gone out drinking with a lot of people who would have thought it funny to leave him in a heap on the floor. He gets out of bed and goes to relieve himself in the bathroom, realising only when he glances in the gigantic floor-to-ceiling mirror that he’s wearing Brian’s clothes – an old Mickey Mouse t-shirt that he recognises from the days when the band used to live together, and a pair of boxers.

Freddie doesn’t know whether to wince or laugh when he imagines the battle Brian must have found on his hands when he tried to undress Freddie for bed. He knows exactly what he’s like, thank you. Especially when it comes to Brian.

He spies Brian’s toiletries bag on the side and rifles through it, looking for the spare toothbrush he keeps in there for situations where he and Brian just so happen to end up in bed together. He feels better once he’s freshened up, more like an actual human. He goes back out to Brian and steals a sip of his tea, then climbs back into bed. They have nowhere to be until afternoon; he plans to make the most of this lazy start.

He makes himself comfortable, realising after a beat or two that Brian is watching him. Freddie tilts his head in question.

“Nice t-shirt,” Brian says. “Must’ve borrowed it from someone with impeccable taste.”

Freddie looks down and pats Mickey's head indulgently. “Bit big, maybe.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it suits you.”

There’s an edge to Brian’s voice which Freddie is fairly sure he recognises, but he still glances at him to be sure. He was right; there’s definite intent in the way Brian looks him up and down, in the crook of his smile.

“You like me in your clothes?” Freddie knows he does, he’s seen the effect it has on Brian before, but he can’t help but fish for a compliment just a little.

“Mm.” Brian puts the newspaper and the cup aside and rolls onto his side so he’s facing Freddie. He reaches out and strokes a hand down Freddie’s waist. On him, the t-shirt hangs down so far it nearly covers the boxers. On Brian, it’s perfectly average length, perhaps even a little short. Brian slides his hand under it so that his warm palm is against Freddie’s skin; Freddie shivers. “Makes you look like mine.”

Freddie tips his head up as Brian goes in for a kiss. “How exactly,” he asks between kisses, “did you manage to get me into it last night?”

Brian breaks away to pull a rueful face. “With difficulty,” he admits. “You were very…”

“Keen?” Freddie suggests.

Brian’s mouth twitches. “Desperate.”

Freddie pouts at him but Brian laughs and kisses it away. The kiss deepens; Brian slides a hand down Freddie’s back, and it’s not long before it slips beneath the waistband of his boxers. He leaves his hand there for a moment, fingers splayed possessively over the curve of Freddie’s arse, whilst he leans down to take Freddie’s mouth in another kiss.

“Let’s get these off you,” Brian murmurs eventually, and Freddie leans back to drag Brian’s t-shirt over his head. Brian helps him with the boxers, dragging them down and tossing them aside.

Brian moves away and Freddie bites back his automatic protest when he sees Brian rummaging in the drawer by the bed.

When Brian comes back he’s got the lube in his hand and a hungry look in his eye when he takes in Freddie’s nakedness. “Lie back,” he says, indicating the pillows. “Legs up for me.”

Freddie does as he is bid, watching Brian eagerly as he lubes up his fingers. He dips his hand down between Freddie’s legs and circles one finger just gently against Freddie’s entrance until Freddie growls at him and presses back, trying to make him get a bloody move on. Brian laughs quietly against Freddie’s neck.

“Impatient,” he says fondly, but he takes the hint and presses his slick finger up into Freddie.

Brian takes his time opening him up, which isn’t unusual. Brian likes to play with him and he knows just how to make Freddie squirm. He’s being torturously slow this morning – he takes ages working one finger in and out of Freddie until Freddie outright whines at him, but Brian isn’t to be hurried.

“Finally,” Freddie says petulantly when Brian pushes two fingers into him at last, but Brian immediately stops.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks.

Freddie knows that tone of voice. He squirms, averting his gaze. Brian doesn’t move, stays exactly where he is, leaning over Freddie with two fingers motionless inside him. Freddie finally looks up at Brian and finds his expression exactly as expected; mouth pursed, one eyebrow raised, as though he can’t quite believe Freddie is being pushy again when they both know exactly how this works between them.

Freddie doesn’t say anything immediately and Brian doesn’t prompt him. It’s no use, though; Freddie knows this game and he knows who will win. Brian isn’t going to move, isn’t going to give him what he wants, unless he plays by Brian’s rules.

“You know I do,” he says, unable to hide his frustration.

Brian’s eyebrow arches even higher. “Do I?”

“ _Brian_ ,” Freddie whines, but it’s protest for protest’s sake; Brian is not going to relent. Freddie huffs and gives in. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

There’s the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of Brian’s mouth and the sight of it makes Freddie want to bitch at him but he curbs the instinct. It works; Brian eyes him for a moment or two to check there’s no more pushiness on its way, and then he crooks his fingers inside Freddie, making him gasp.

“I suggest you behave yourself, then,” Brian murmurs. He gets back to work, working Freddie opening at the same slow pace, but this time Freddie keeps his mouth shut, letting Brian do it his way.

He’s so hard and he wants Brian so much he can barely think straight by the time Brian deems him ready, but he seems to have lost interest in dragging it out to torment Freddie, anyway. He pauses only to kick off his own boxers before he crawls back over Freddie, grabbing his knees to pull them up and settling in between them. He wraps a hand around his own erection to slick himself up and leans back, taking a moment to look at Freddie.

Freddie is so close to getting what he wants and he isn’t going to ruin it now; he doesn’t complain while Brian looks his fill but makes himself lie still and quiet. He meets Brian’s gaze and he can see his own want mirrored in Brian’s eyes.

“Look so pretty like this, Fred,” Brian says, his voice thick. “All ready for me.”

He comes back to Freddie, gets on top of him and guides his cock to Freddie’s entrance, starting to push inside. Freddie arches his back and moans softly, his hands settling onto Brian’s shoulders. His fingers flex and unflex for a few moments as he adjusts to the feeling and when he looks up he can see Brian is every bit as affected as him, eyes squeezed shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Freddie leans up to kiss the spot where Brian is biting and that makes Brian open his eyes; he opens his mouth to kiss Freddie properly and starts to move his hips at the same time.

He sets up a languid pace, deep and unhurried, his elbows braced on each side of Freddie’s head. Freddie turns his head and presses his face against Brian’s bicep just to feel more of him. Everything about it feels so deliberate and intense, more thorough and intimate than Freddie is used to, even with Brian – and he and Brian have fucked all over the world, in cheap hotels and world class resorts, tour buses, stadiums and once, memorably, on a picnic blanket in the tiny terraced courtyard garden of Freddie’s first flat.

Brian changes the angle a bit, transfers his weight onto one arm so that he can reach under and grab Freddie’s hip, pulling him up the bed just a bit so that they’re pressed even closer. The new angle makes Freddie whimper and Brian flashes him a quick grin, face flushed and eyes heated. Freddie hooks his leg over Brian’s waist, clumsy with distraction, and Brian groans out a, “Good boy,” that nearly makes Freddie come there and then.

He can tell when Brian is getting close by the way his expression changes, brow furrowing and eyes repeatedly sliding closed no matter how often he blinks them open. Freddie squeezes him just a little with the leg he has around Brian’s waist, just to see what happens; Brian swears softly and buries his face in Freddie’s neck. Freddie gives a little yelp when the expected kiss turns out to be a bite, but he isn’t complaining. He’ll happily wear Brian’s possessive marks all over his throat and delight in the suspicious stares.

Freddie is expecting it when Brian slides a hand down his belly and wraps his fingers around his cock, but it still makes him groan; Brian traces his thumb against the head just how he knows Freddie likes it and Freddie moans again, louder and higher.

“You first,” Brian pants, like he always does, “come for me, Freddie, baby – ”

Freddie doesn’t need any encouragement; he’s been precariously close for a while now, worked halfway to the edge by the time Brian spent teasing him open. He comes with a cry, clinging to Brian’s shoulders, and he feels his leg go loose on Brian’s waist but Brian doesn’t seem to mind; a few thrusts more and Brian is coming too, his breath hot against Freddie’s neck.

He tries to drop down to lie beside Freddie but he still sort of falls on top of him; Freddie groans a bit but squirms into a more comfortable position so that they can still hold onto each other. Brian’s arm is thrown over him and he can feel the pulse hammering in his wrist. It makes him proud, in a weird, sated way, to know that he did that, he caused that. Brian is the calm and collected one, but Freddie can do this to him.

Freddie smiles and tucks himself under Brian’s shoulder with a content sigh. When Brian’s head has cleared enough he presses a kiss to Freddie’s hairline. Freddie hums tiredly.

They stay like that for a while, tangled together, until Freddie starts to think wistfully about clean sheets and fragrant bubbles. He rolls onto his side to look at Brian; he’s not asleep but his eyes are closed, his face relaxed.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, darling,” Freddie says (wheedles), “but the bathrooms in this hotel are absolutely gorgeous. They’re huge, I bet they could easily fit at least four people. A bath sounds wonderful right about now, don’t you agree?”

Brian smiles without opening his eyes. “Mm, I do agree,” he says easily. Freddie waits expectantly, but Brian doesn’t take the bait.

Freddie gives him a little poke in the side. “Bri,” he says.

“Yes, Fred?”

“A bath sounds wonderful right now,” Freddie repeats.

Brian slits an eye open and regards him lazily. “I know. I agreed with you.”

“It was a hint and you know it,” says Freddie plaintively.

Brian just laughs. “Maybe I did,” he allows. He sits up and stretches, rolling his shoulders, then gets out of bed. Freddie takes the opportunity to kick the messy sheets off the bed and stretches out himself on his front. He props his chin on his hands and looks sweetly up at Brian.

“I suppose this is the part where I offer to run the bath for us?”

Freddie’s smile grows sweeter still. “Oh, if you would, Bri, that would be amazing.”

Brian shakes his head at him, amused. “Anything for my baby,” he says. His expression is deadpan but there’s a softness in his voice which undercuts the sarcasm. Freddie blows him a kiss as he turns to walk to the en-suite, settling down to enjoy the view.

**Author's Note:**

> And I-eeee-iiiii will always love Maycury. 
> 
> I might add a part two to this, to cover the morning after. If the mood strikes. (The mood will probably strike.)
> 
> If anyone has any prompts for scenarios with these two please let me know!


End file.
